But Paganel solved the difficulty, and advised him to simply bury his ferns and potatoes in the ground itself, for the heat of the upper strata was very great. Olbinett, however, narrowly escaped a serious scalding, for, just as he had dug a hole to put his roots in, a stream of watery vapor burst forth, and rose to the height of several feet. The steward started back in terror.
“Close the hole!” cried the major, who, with the aid of the two sailors, covered the orifice with fragments of pumice-stone, while Paganel murmured these words:
“Well! well! ha! ha! very natural!”
“You are not scalded?” inquired MacNabb of Olbinett.
“No, Mr. MacNabb,” replied the steward; “but I scarcely expected—”
“So many blessings,” added Paganel, in a mirthful tone. “Consider Kara-Tété’s water and provisions, and the fire of the earth! This mountain is a paradise! I propose that we found a colony here, cultivate the soil, and settle for the rest of our days. We will be Robinson Crusoes of Maunganamu. Indeed, I look in vain for any deficiency on this comfortable peak.”
“Nothing is wanting if the earth is firm,” replied Captain Mangles.
“Well, it was not created yesterday,” said Paganel. “It has long resisted the action of internal fires, and will easily hold out till our departure.”
“Breakfast is ready,” announced Mr. Olbinett, as gravely as if he had been performing his duties at Malcolm Castle.
The fugitives at once sat down near the palisade, and enjoyed the repast that Providence had so opportunely furnished to them in this critical situation. No one appeared particular about the choice of food, but there was a diversity of opinion concerning the edible ferns. Some found them sweet and pleasant, and others mucilaginous, insipid, and acrid. The sweet potatoes, cooked in the hot earth, were excellent.
Their hunger being satiated, Glenarvan proposed that they should, without delay, arrange a plan of escape.
“So soon!” said Paganel, in a truly piteous tone. “What! are you thinking already of leaving this delightful place?”
“I think, first of all,” replied Glenarvan, “that we ought to attempt an escape before we are forced to it by hunger. We have strength enough yet, and must take advantage of it. Tonight let us try to gain the eastern valleys, and cross the circle of natives under cover of the darkness.”
“Exactly,” answered Paganel; “if the Maoris will let us pass.”
“And if they prevent us?” asked Captain Mangles.
“Then we will employ the great expedients,” said Paganel.
“You have great expedients, then?” inquired the major.
“More than I know what to do with,” rejoined Paganel, without further explanation.
They could now do nothing but wait for night to attempt crossing the line of savages, who had not left their position. Their ranks even seemed increased by stragglers from the tribe. Here and there freshly-kindled fires formed a flaming girdle around the base of the peak. When darkness had invaded the surrounding valleys, the Maunganamu seemed to rise from a vast conflagration, while its summit was lost in a dense shade. Six hundred feet below were heard the tumult and cries of the enemy’s camp.
At nine o’clock it was very dark, and Glenarvan and Captain Mangles resolved to make an exploration before taking their companions on this perilous journey. They noiselessly descended the declivity some distance, and reached the narrow ridge that crossed the line of natives fifty feet above the encampment.
All went well so far. The Maoris, stretched beside their fires, did not seem to perceive the two fugitives, who advanced a few paces farther. But suddenly, to the left and right of the ridge, a double volley resounded.
“Back!” cried Glenarvan; “these bandits have eyes like a cat, and the guns of riflemen!”
Captain Mangles and he reascended at once the precipitous slopes of the mountain, and speedily assured their terrified friends of their safety. Glenarvan’s hat had been pierced by two bullets. It was, therefore, dangerous to venture on the ridge between these two lines of marksmen.
“Wait till tomorrow,” said Paganel; “and since we cannot deceive the vigilance of these natives, permit me to give them a dose in my own way.”
The temperature was quite cold. Fortunately, Kara-Tété wore in the tomb his best night-robes, warm, flaxen coverings, in which each one wrapped himself without hesitation; and soon the fugitives, protected by the native superstition, slept peacefully in the shelter of the palisades, on the earth that seemed to quake with the internal commotion.
LIII
A Bold Stratagem
The rising sun awakened with his first rays the sleepers on the Maunganamu. The Maoris for some time had been moving to and fro at the foot of the peak without wandering from their post of observation. Furious cries saluted the appearance of the Europeans as they issued from the desecrated tomb.
Each cast a longing glance towards the surrounding mountains, the deep valleys, still veiled in mist, and the surface of Lake Taupo, gently rippling beneath the morning wind. Then all, eager to know Paganel’s new project, gathered around him with questioning looks; while the geographer at once satisfied the restless curiosity of his companions.
“My friends,” said he, “my project has this advantage, that if it does not produce the result that I expect, or even fails, our situation will not be impaired. But it ought to and will succeed.”
“And this project?” asked the major.
“This is it,” replied Paganel. “The superstition of the natives has made this mountain a place of refuge, and this superstition must help us to escape. If I succeed in convincing Kai-Koumou that we have become the victims of our sacrilege, that the wrath of Heaven has fallen upon us, in short, that we have met a terrible death,